


Bad Dream

by datafailure



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enabran Tain's A+ Parenting, Introspection, M/M, Nightmares, POV Elim Garak, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datafailure/pseuds/datafailure
Summary: Elim Garak was used to waking up alone.(A kind of depressing Garak POV with a happy ending.)
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Bad Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, I've had an absolutely terrible week. I am really struggling at the moment and I feel incredibly lonely, so I wrote this. I haven't even spell checked it, it's nearly 2am and I wrote it in 15 minutes, if there's any typos deal with it.

Elim Garak was used to waking up alone.

A lifetime of solitude, torn from the only family he had, forced into a dangerous game when he was far too young to understand the consequences.

He thought he’d die on the job; maybe an investigation would go wrong, a prisoner would fight back, break his neck. A painless death.

But instead, he had ended up exiled; alone on a floating lump of metal next to the planet his people had decimated. An empty shell of what once was. Cold, clinical, unfeeling. His thick clothing did nothing to protect him from the hatred in the eyes of the Bajoran residents. He recognised some of them, of course, from the occupation - they were once decrepit and broken under Cardassia’s unforgiving yoke, now holding a new power and unity - they had done it, they had overthrown the aggressors and saved their home land. Elim Garak couldn’t do the same, and so the tables had turned. He was broken, now.

The unrelenting waves of serotonin being pumped into his brain had become muted, blending in with the constant adrenaline buzz of mortal fear that he had learned to cultivate all those years ago. A little fear aids the senses, he’d always said. Now, though, he wished he could feel safe, protected, if only for a little while. He was tired of living in fear.

And his dreams - Guls, his dreams were wracked with disjointed images from his past - innocent men that he’d broken and been  _ proud  _ of it, their cries for help subsiding as they drifted into subconsciousness, the unforgiving face of his father, probing deep into his soul, always disappointed. A dark room, a sobbing child. Walls and ceiling collapsing inward. 

The station may have been cold, his exile miserable, but the dreams were the true punishment.

-

“Garak?”

Warmth rippled pleasantly through his body.

“Garak, are you okay? You looked like you were having a bad dream.”

“Mm.” He pushed back into the warmth, incoherent.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it later. Try to get some rest, love.” Lips pressed gently against the top of his head, and warm arms wrapped around his chest.

He was safe here. He was warm, and loved, and safe.

Elim Garak could get used to this.


End file.
